The Blitz
by fotnot
Summary: Arthur is visiting Francis when an attack is launched at London. Suddenly there was blood.


The sun gave the expression of never setting, hovering above the horizon with a color of melting copper.

A house on a cliff, walls red as roses and windows nearly big enough to look exaggerated. A lawn the size of three football fields green as emerald and lined with a fence to enclose the properties from the outside world. In that house the same person had been living for as long as anyone could remember, for as long as the history books reached back in history, and his visitor this evening was of the same kind.

The light shining through the window illuminated two blonds sitting across each other at a tea table. The one with the blond hair shaped as wavy locks sighted, an empty gesture done many times the same evening, as he brought the cup town on the table carefully.

"So, Arthur. Are you going to force me to look at that frown of yours all day or forgive me?"

The other blond who apparently had been given the name Arthur replied with a slightly sour look.

"Shut up frog, you should very well know that my eyebrows are…"

Suddenly Arthurs face went empty.

Fear.

Horror.

Realization.

The Britts mouth opened, but no sound emitted. He rose from the chair suddenly and the force caused it to fall backwards, it hit the floor with a deafening sound.

"What's wrong Angleterre?" Francis asked with a worried expression. His hand reached out towards the other man but stopped before it reached its goal, body contact was a thing strictly forbidden at the moment in their complicated relationship.

The only answer he got was a low, gurgling sound from the back of the Englishman's throat.

"England, if this is a joke it is…" He ended his sentence abruptly as Arthurs knees gave out, sending him straight for the cold hard floor. "ARTHUR!"

Said man was now fighting for his breath with a sound that still echo in Francis head, the gurgling rasping intakes of air accompanied by the low scraping sound of his nails clawing at the floor desperately.

France rose quickly only to immediately drop down to the floor beside his anguished friend. He placed a hand on his shoulder in what he hoped was a calming gesture and asked "What's wrong Arthur? Please tell me!"

Arthurs fought to say something, but the air needed just kept evading him. After quite a few agonizing breaths he choked out: "Bombs… pain... gugh!" The sentence was cut short by a cough that racked the whole Englishman and sent him into a fit that made his battle for air even harder.

"Arthur, please tell me what's wrong? What am I supposed to do? What's happening?" The Frenchman's eyes now bordered to panic and were turning more and more alarmed by the second. The hand on the suffering mans shoulder tightened its grip until the Frenchman realized this and let go. He realized with worry that the English man hadn't given any kind of response to the tight hold.

Arthur looked up at him with eyes clouded with pain, silently screaming for a help the Frenchman didn't know how to give.

Suddenly there was blood. A thin trail of red lined Arthurs face from his moth along his cheek.

Francis looked at it as if entranced; the red gave of a supernatural glow in the setting suns light, and the chock he was in was only broken by the other mans movement when he in-between raspy breaths and coughs moved to curl up on his side and wrapped his arms around himself, as if to force his body to stay in intact as it was racked by violent coughs. Francis moved his hand to keep Englands head up and to the side so he wouldn't choke on his own blood. "Arthur! Please hang on, I… I will call for help! You can make it! Yes, of course you can! ... Right?" But the Englishman's breath sounded more and more strained and the pool of blood on the floor by Arthurs face seemed to get bigger by the second as he heaved and coughed harder.

Francis removed one hand from underneath Arthurs head to reach for his cellphone, but stopped before he could reach his pocket, the hand now visible to his eyes was red, red as if he was wearing some flamboyant evening gloves. The sight of Arthur's blood on his hand made him really realize what was happening.

"Oh god."

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_Please rate and review; it's my first try at a fanfic so criticism is very welcome!_

_The story is inspired by the German attack on England in 1940, read more at: http: / / w w w . h i s t o r y p l a c e . c o m / w o r l d w a r 2 / t i m e l i n e / a b o u t - b l i t z . h t m_


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